


The Kingsguard

by LadyRhiyana



Series: Royalty!AU [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 09:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24468748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: In which Princess Brienne goes to university, and Jaime is her bodyguard.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Royalty!AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576543
Comments: 492
Kudos: 504





	1. Prologue and Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue of this fic has been taken from the first part of "Princely Virtues the Third". 
> 
> Thanks to all who encouraged me to continue this little AU! As with "Up Close and Personal", this will be added to whenever I need an extra dose of fluff. 
> 
> Please enjoy.

**PROLOGUE**

1.

When Brienne was 15 years old, the tabloids gleefully reported that Prince Rhaegar had left his wife and run off with Robert Baratheon’s fiancée.

Brienne paid very little attention. She wasn’t a royal-watcher. Besides, she had school, swim training and fencing lessons, and a part-time job as a lifeguard on the weekends. 

** 

The gossip quickly escalated into a political crisis. But Tarth seemed a whole world away from the mainland; surely it would all blow over and things would return to normal. 

She stopped watching the news. There were other things to worry about. She retained only the dimmest impression that the Mad King had done something horrible to some lords from the north, but she didn’t want to know. 

When Robert Baratheon sent a message requesting her father’s support, her father sat her down and told her that he was going off to the mainland for a while, and she wasn’t to worry. 

“But why do you have to go?” she asked. “What does it have to do with us?”

“Although we mostly live like ordinary people now,” her father said, “we are the ancestral lords of Tarth. With that comes obligation and responsibility.”

“But that’s – nobody believes in all that anymore, Dad.” 

Her father only shook his head. “I do,” he said. 

**

When Brienne was 16 years old, Rhaegar Targaryen died at the Trident, and two days later Robert Baratheon followed. 

The rebel lords chose Brienne’s father to take command of their armies. 

Brienne was too busy to worry. She was overloaded with homework and assignments, and she’d just been chosen for the Stormlands team at the upcoming Westerosi fencing championships. 

** 

When Brienne was 17 years old, just after her final exams, an unknown person murdered the Mad King. 

Two days later, it was announced that her father was to be the next king of the Seven Kingdoms.

** 

2.

The Red Keep was strange and claustrophobic and she felt uncomfortable in her own skin. The servants and officials – strangers all – bowed and called her princess, but she felt as though they were secretly looking down on her. 

Her father was the king, now, and spent all his time in meetings with the Prime Minister Tywin Lannister and the Small Council. She understood that he was trying to restore order and stability after the upheaval of the last two years, but sometimes it was lonely on her own.

She’d never really had proper friends on Tarth or her various sports teams, but at least she’d been one of a group of peers. There was no one her own age at the Red Keep.

The only people Brienne felt comfortable with were the Kingsguard. 

The Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent had returned from Dorne with Lyanna Stark and her infant son, Jon. Lewyn Martell – a Dornish prince! – and Jonothor Darry and Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded at the Trident but had recently been rated fit to return to duty. 

She liked their calm professionalism and their sometimes mordant humour. 

“But why are there only six of you?” she asked. “I thought there were always seven.” 

“Our seventh member is on mandatory stress leave,” Dayne replied. “He was the only one left with the king, while the rest of us were scattered – I understand things were very difficult, towards the end.” 

**

What with settling in and all the chaos and rebuilding after the rebellion, she deferred her entry to Oldtown University until the next year. And then when it finally came time for her to leave, her father insisted that she had to have security of some sort. 

“Dad, I don’t want black-suited security following me about everywhere I go,” Brienne protested. “I just want to be normal.” 

Her father only sighed. “Do you have someone discreet?” he asked the Lord Commander. 

Gerold Hightower considered this, a slow, private smile curling his mouth. 

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “Jaime will protect her.” That private smile again. “It’ll do him a great deal of good.” 

** 

3\. 

Her father insisted on driving her to the campus on her first day. 

“There are times I want to be normal, too,” he said. “My only daughter is going off to university. The least I can do is wish her well.” 

And so she arrived in a non-descript bullet-proof black car, with her father and Arthur Dayne to see her off. 

The seventh member of the Kingsguard, the unknown “Jaime” who had spent almost a year on mandatory stress leave, was to meet them at the rendezvous point. But she couldn’t see any discreet-looking security types, only a tall, golden young man standing by a car with diplomatic plates – the white-gloved chauffer wearing a black suit with some kind of red and gold crest – and saying goodbye to a young boy, clearly an adoring younger brother. 

“Ah,” Dayne said, his voice fond and amused, “and here’s Jaime now.” 

“Gods,” her father said. “He looks like a jet-setting prince. How old did you say he was?”

“He must be nearly 19 by now.” Dayne stepped out of the car and caught Jaime’s attention. He looked in their direction, nodded, and completed his farewells – the adoring brother catching him in one last hug before the chauffeured car glided away – before strolling over in their direction. 

He really did look like a prince. Tanned, perfectly stubbled, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt and mirrored designer sunglasses with tumbling golden hair, he was the most beautiful gilded creature she’d ever seen. 

“You look well, Jaime.” Dayne put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder and looked him over. “Have you been sailing?”

Jaime smiled. “My father has a holiday villa in Lys,” he said. “The waters are beautiful there.” His eyes darted to the tinted windows of the car. 

“Come and meet the new king.” Dayne drew him into the back seat, across from Brienne and her father. “Your grace, this is Jaime Lannister, the last of our seven. Jaime, the king – and princess Brienne, who will be your charge.” 

Jaime drew off his mirrored sunglasses and bowed to her father. “Your grace,” he said. His eyes were bright, wicked green. When they slid over to Brienne, he smiled – a slow curve of unholy amusement. “Princess,” he drawled. 

** 

He was a Lannister. He was charming and golden and beautiful. He’d spent the last year at his father’s holiday villa in Lys, sailing and working on his perfect tan. 

She hated him already.

**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**

She should have known that gilded, beautiful Jaime Lannister would never fade discreetly into the background. 

“I’ve been assigned to the room next to yours,” he said, matter of factly, as he conducted a security check of her room.

She blinked. “What?”

He frowned at her, as though trying to decide whether she was hard of hearing. “I am in the room next door,” he said, slowly and clearly.

“Yes, yes, I heard that,” she said crossly. “But why?”

“Because you’re the Crown Princess,” he said, “and I’m your Kingsguard.”

“That doesn’t mean you should live in the next room!”

“No, you’re right,” he agreed. “I asked the university housing officers to assign me as your roommate, but they said it was against university policy. So – next door it will have to be.” 

“But –” she sank down into a chair, bewildered. “I thought you were supposed to be discreet. Invisible. Always in the background.” 

He sighed. “Look,” he said, sprawling in the chair across from her. Even in casual jeans and an old white t-shirt, he looked like a movie star. “Will black-suited security be able to follow you everywhere, into your lectures and tutorials, even into bars and parties and clubs? You said you didn’t want people to know you’re a princess. Well, if you have security trailing after you, they’ll know straight away. But if I’m with you –”

“But you’re worse than black-suited security! You’re a Kingsguard! And you’re – _you_.” 

“Yes, but nobody knows that I’m a Kingsguard,” he countered. “Nobody knows me as anything but Jaime Lannister, the Prime Minister’s son and the heir to Casterly Rock. They won’t think it odd if I go everywhere with you.” 

She opened her mouth. Shut it. Counted to ten, just to be sure that she could control her temper. 

“Jaime,” she said, very calmly. “Can I call you Jaime?” 

He raised his brows. “You’re the Crown Princess. You can call me anything you like.” 

“Jaime,” she said, “you may have been told, once or twice, that you’re extremely handsome.” 

He grinned – a slashing, irresistibly charming flash of very white teeth. “Once or twice,” he agreed.

“And you may have noticed that I am not what most people would call,” she paused, her mouth thinning, “conventionally attractive.” 

“Well, what of it?” He only shrugged. “Who cares about the opinion of sheep?”

“No one’s going to believe that you would want to spend all your time with me!” She grasped his arm, tugged him up out of the chair and led him over to the mirror on the back of the dorm room door. “Look,” she said, pointing to their shared reflection. 

Jaime looked like a golden god, and she looked like – 

He looked at their reflection, and then he looked at her – running his eyes over her, slowly and deliberately. It was the first unprofessional look he’d given her, she realised; he’d always looked her in the eye before.

“Your face is ugly, yes,” he mused. “But those legs, and that arse –” He circled around her, making a low, humming sound in his throat. “I’d fuck you,” he said pleasantly. 

She reared back, outraged. “What?!” 

“And your eyes are magnificent,” he added, as an afterthought. 

“But –”

“Look,” he said. “Who gives a fuck what other people think? I’m a Lannister of Casterly Rock. I don’t answer to anyone but my father and the king.” 

She gave in, silenced by his magnificent arrogance. 

**

She should never have given in. If you gave Lannisters an inch, she soon came to understand, they took the whole godsdamned mile, and more besides. 

** 

A few days later she realised that he was taking all of her subjects, and had signed up for all the same lectures and tutorials. 

“Surely you’re not taking,” she looked down at his schedule, “Introductory Principles of Finance, Contract Law _and_ Westerosi Political Theory.” 

“Why not?” He was straddling one of her chairs, his arms crossed on the back. The morning light falling through her window shone in his golden curls. “My father is the Prime Minister. He’s held on to power for more than twenty years. You don’t think I’ve had finance, law and politics shoved down my throat every day of my life?” 

“I don’t doubt you had it shoved down your throat,” she retorted. “I simply doubt that you listened.”

He grinned. “Touche.” 

She considered him. “This has all been fixed, hasn’t it,” she said slowly. “You would have taken the same classes and tutorials no matter what I wanted to study. And you would have been accepted no matter your qualifications.”

He gave her a wry, don’t-be-foolish smile. “Of course,” he said simply. 

**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets drunk, and Jaime walks her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little chapter. Please enjoy :-)

At the end of her first week, some of the people from her classes invited her out for drinks on Friday night. She thought perhaps it was no more than politeness, but Margaery Tyrell’s smile was so mischievous – and Sansa Stark’s so warm – that she accepted their invitation.

The streets of Oldtown were narrow and winding, each twist and turn leading to another hole in the corner bar; they found themselves at a tiny cavern filled with loud music and conversation, with cheap drinks and plenty of snacks. The place was crammed with students.

Brienne went to the bar first and bought three glasses of white wine. When she came back to their table, Jaime was there.

“Gods,” he said, looking about him with lordly disdain. “What a dive.”

Brienne blinked at him. “Where did you come from?” Automatically, she passed Margaery and Sansa their drinks and slid onto her chair.

“Do you two know each other?” Sansa asked, looking between them with a bright smile.

“Jaime is my – my neighbour,” Brienne said, flushing a little.

“Lucky you,” Margaery said, raising her glass in a mock-toast.

Jaime only grinned.

**

Later that night, Brienne and Jaime walked back to the campus through the narrow, winding streets, their footsteps echoing in the dark. There was no moon; the streetlights blinked and buzzed intermittently, and their shadows flew this way and that.

Brienne was unsteady on her feet; she’d had a few drinks, and the world was soft and fuzzy. Jaime threaded her arm through his, and she leaned on him a little as she walked.

“Jaime,” she said muzzily, “sometimes I don’t believe you’re real.”

He turned his head to look at her, his laughing smile curling his mouth. “How much have you had to drink, princess?” he asked.

“Only three glasses.” She frowned. “Stop distracting me. You’re too – you’re too _you_. Are you really a bodyguard?”

“I’m not a bodyguard,” he said. “I’m a Kingsguard.”

She peered at him suspiciously. “What’s the difference?”

“Bodyguards can walk away, if they choose.”

They walked on in silence. Brienne tried to focus on what he had said – and what he had not said.

“Is that why you – did you… _let_ Aerys die?” she asked.

His footsteps slowed, and then stopped. She could feel the sudden tension in him –

“Not that I’d blame you if you did,” she rushed on, “he wasn’t a very good king, after all. But –” she trailed off. “Never mind. Just – just forget I ever –”

“Brienne,” he said gently, cutting off her babbling. “Let’s just get you home.”

They walked on in silence. Brienne tried to straighten up, to walk on her own, but he refused to let her go. In the end, she leaned more and more of her weight on him, and some part of her was secretly thrilled that he was strong enough to hold her.

When they finally got back to their neighbouring rooms, he unlocked her door and guided her in. He helped her out of her jacket, turned down her covers and lowered her down to sit on the bed.

“Jaime,” she said, her tongue tangled and twisted. “I’m sorry.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

He only sighed. “Never mind,” he said. “Aerys is dead, now. Your father is a much better king.”

“And will you be much happier protecting us?”

“I told you before,” he said. “I’m _your_ Kingsguard, princess.”

**

In the morning, she woke to find a glass of water and two aspirin on her bedside table.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My hero,” Jaime said, raising his glass.

At the end of her second week, Brienne went out again with Margaery and Sansa.

“Bring Jaime too,” Margaery said with a saucy smile. “He’s welcome any time.”

They went to the same hole in the wall bar, and Brienne and her two new friends – and her personal Kingsguard – drank and laughed and swapped increasingly tall stories of their families’ eccentricities.

She found herself trying to capture the moment – Margaery’s laughter, Sansa’s smile and the dancing light in Jaime’s green eyes – and so she was only half-surprised when it all went wrong.

A laughing, jeering voice, and cruel words meant to wound –

Only this time she realised the target was not _her_ , but – Jaime?

“I’m surprised to see you here, Lannister,” a cut-glass, sardonic voice said. “But then, perhaps I should have realised your father’s money could buy anything.”

Sansa frowned. Margaery only rolled her eyes. Jaime subjected the speaker – a tall, handsome man of about Jaime’s age, wearing designer clothes and a too-expensive watch, but with none of Jaime’s lazy confidence – to a look of such supreme, haughty indifference that Brienne had to stifle a giggle.

“Piss off, Reyne,” he said, and casually turned away, leaving the speaker red-faced and indignant.

But Reyne was not to be so easily deterred. “This ugly beast must be your new bodyguard,” he mused, looking Brienne up and down. “She’s big enough for it. Does she have to follow you _everywhere_ you go?”

Brienne flushed and hunched in on herself.

“Hey!” Sansa protested. “You – Reyne, or whatever your name is – apologise to Brienne right now.” Her colour was up, her mouth set firmly, her normally gentle blue eyes fierce. 

Margaery looked impressed.

Jaime’s eyes darted to Brienne, and there was sympathy and an apology in them, but mostly he wore an expression of unholy amusement.

“It seems we’ve been found out.” He leaned back, his mouth curling, and slanted a look at Reyne. “Yes, Brienne is my bodyguard. Be careful you don’t cross her – my father’s money buys only the best, you know.”

Brienne stared at him in astonished outrage. Sansa’s eyes widened.

Reyne frowned, clearly unsure whether or not Jaime was telling the truth. “We all wondered why you left Crakehall so abruptly,” he went on. “Brax said drugs, and Plumm rehab – but none of us could find out. And now here you are, four years later – where _did_ you go, Jaime?”

Jaime only sighed. “Where I went, and what I’m doing here now, are absolutely none of your business. I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone. Now piss off, before I get Brienne to throw you out.”

He gestured at Brienne. With a look at Jaime that promised retribution, she squared her shoulders, slowly scraped her chair back and stood up – and up – until she reached her full height, glowering down at Reyne. He was not as tall as Jaime; she had a full head of height on him.

“Ha!” Reyne scoffed. “You don’t scare me.” But it was all too obvious that she did. He threw one last glare towards Jaime, for good measure, and then sauntered off as casually as he could.

When he had vanished into the crowd, Brienne sat back down, her face burning with embarrassment.

Sansa and Margaery laughed and clapped their hands with delight. “Oh, that was brilliant, Brienne!” Margaery said. “The look on his face!”

Jaime smiled at her, wicked and unrepentant. “My hero,” he said, raising his glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend that in this modern AU Tywin did not eliminate the Reynes of Castamere with extreme prejudice. I wanted someone from the Westerlands who could possibly think himself equal to Jaime, status-wise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m the heir to Casterly Rock,” Jaime protested. “Someone might try to kidnap me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows immediately on from the last chapter.

[“No, but seriously,” Margaery said later, leaning in and peering at Jaime. Her eyes were a little glazed; there were a number of glasses in front of her. “Why do _you_ need a bodyguard, Jaime?”

“I’m the heir to Casterly Rock,” he protested. “My father’s the Prime Minister. Someone might try to kidnap me.”

Sansa made a scoffing noise. “You’re six foot tall and built. My brother Robb says you’re into serious MMA.”

“Still. My father’s a bit over-protective.”

“Ha!” Brienne said, squinting at him, poking her finger into his chest. “Do you know the first thing I ever discovered about you, Jaime Lannister? You’re a liar. A big fat liar.”

He closed his hand around hers and gently tugged her finger away from his chest. “Maybe. But you’re still stuck with me.” He grinned, that wicked, unholy grin. “Because of over-protective fathers.”

She made a low hissing sound, and snatched her hand away with poor grace.]

**

The next day, the news that Jaime Lannister had a hulking bodyguard following him everywhere he went was all over the campus.

“Well, it’s better than the reverse, isn’t it?” he asked. “You did want to fly under the radar, didn’t you?”

“This is not flying under the radar!” She threw up her hands. “This is – this is an outrageous _fib_!”

“No, it’s not so implausible – I used to have a bodyguard when I was younger. But when I was fifteen, Bronn was assigned to look after Tyrion instead.” He grinned fondly. “I’m pretty sure my father regrets that now.”

As always, he deliberately missed the point, in the most deliberately provoking fashion.

In the end, she simply sighed and went along with it.

**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime’s triumph was short-lived.

Jaime’s triumph was short-lived. 

It wasn’t long before his phone rang, and she had the pleasure of overhearing his side of the conversation with the Lord Commander, Gerold Hightower. 

Mostly it seemed to consist of Jaime standing to attention and saying “yes, ser,” and “no, ser” and “I understand, ser.”

“How much trouble are you in?” she asked afterwards. 

He sighed and threw himself down on the couch. 

“Technically, none,” he said. “The Old Bull gave me complete autonomy. He can’t complain about my methods now.” 

“But?” 

“But.” He sat up, looked over at her. “I’m to remember who you are, and be careful not to expose you – or your father – to ridicule.” 

He looked almost crestfallen. She couldn’t – quite – bring herself to feel sorry for him. 

And then _Brienne’s_ phone lit up. She didn’t recognise the number on the screen; it looked vaguely official. 

“Hello?” she said cautiously, glancing curiously at Jaime. He was watching with narrowed eyes, all business now. 

“Princess Brienne,” Lord Tywin’s voice said in her ear.

**

“Your father apologised to me on your behalf,” she told Jaime afterwards, feeling very bemused. “He asked if I wanted you to be replaced.” 

“And you said no. I heard that part.” 

“Jaime,” she said thoughtfully, “when I said that I’d prefer to stick with you, he seemed almost smug. Like the cat that got the cream.”

His eyes slid away from hers. 

“Is there something I don’t know?” 

He sighed and threw himself back down on the couch. With his thick curls, if he were more slender, a pale, ethereal creature like the Targaryens, he might have looked like a romantic poet. Instead he was tanned and golden, six-foot tall and built, and he’d been too lazy to shave lately; he was too vivid, too vital. 

“The old bastard’s playing a long game,” he said. “He’s match-making.”

She blinked. Opened her mouth, and then closed it again. “I thought – your vows? Or can the Kingsguard marry now?” 

“No, the vows haven’t changed. But the circumstances of my taking the white –” he trailed off. 

But she was still stuck on his first statement. “Does he think you and I…?” 

“Why not? Two young people in close proximity – you think I’m ‘extremely handsome’, and I think you’re smoking hot. No doubt my father thinks it’s the perfect plan.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make sure I don’t fall in love with you,” she said stoutly. And then: “Or into bed.”

He turned his head and smiled at her, that slow, don’t be foolish smile. 

“Of course,” he said. “That should be easy enough, right?”

**

Wrong.

Two days later, they fell into bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how it happened.

[Strictly speaking, they fucked in the alley behind Oldtown’s most popular nightclub, Jaime going to his knees on the filthy ground and dragging Brienne’s skin-tight jeans and white cotton panties down, putting his mouth on her as she threw her head back and tangled her hands in his hair.

Still.]

It happened like this:

They went out to a club.

“I’ve got better things to do!” Brienne protested. Like painting her toenails, or lying on the couch and watching nature documentaries.

And yet somehow she found herself inside a noisy, crowded club smelling of sweat and alcohol and perfume.

Despite Jaime’s repeated requests, Brienne refused to step onto the dance floor.

“Never mind,” Jaime said. “There’s always next time.”

While they were nursing their drinks and enjoying the atmosphere, a swaggering group of would-be tough guys approached them. The newcomers tried - and failed - to impress with their witty repartee. Jaime took exception to their manners, his own tongue sharp and vicious.

Red-faced and unable to come up with a suitable retort, the leader of the tough guys threw a punch. It rocked Jaime’s head back, and he grinned, sharp white teeth and bloody lips -

And Brienne heard the flick of a knife, saw the moment Jaime’s training took over - his eyes going flat and cold, his muscles coiling for a killing blow. Without thinking she stepped in, grasped the leader’s wrist and twisted, and with the grace and strength of years of martial arts training disarmed him and laid him out in two swift moves.

There was a great crash as he went down, stumbling over a table and sending glasses flying. The crowd gasped, a collective indrawn breath. He swore and would have scrambled up, but she stepped on his outstretched hand, an unspoken warning.

Finally the bouncers arrived and marched the troublemakers outside. In the wake of their leaving, Brienne heard the whispers from all around her: _elite bodyguard_ , and _special forces_ and _deadly force_.

Jaime stared at her, his eyes glittering strangely.

“What?” she snapped, her blood pounding with adrenaline.

He only grabbed her wrist and dragged her through the crowd, out through the back door and into the alley behind the club.

“What are you -?” she gasped, but he cut her off with a fierce kiss.

**

[“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, much later. “He had a knife.”

“You would have killed him,” she argued.

“I’m a Kingsguard,” he said. “No court in the Seven Kingdoms would convict me for protecting my charge.”

She put her hand on his cheek. “I’m strong enough to protect myself, Jaime,” she whispered. “If I can protect you as well, I will.”]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of not using lethal force in bar fights, does anyone know if there are any J/B Con-Air AUs? I feel like it would be *amazing*.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sword and a blue silk scarf.

For the week-long mid-semester holiday, Brienne went back to Tarth – and Jaime followed, her own personal Kingsguard. 

He eyed the ancient Storm’s End-Tarth ferry with acute disfavour. 

“How old is this thing?” he asked, as the engine slowly rattled and chugged, the horn sounding their departure. 

“It’s been plying the Straits of Tarth for nearly 30 years.” Brienne grinned as they put out to sea, the salt-laden breeze blowing brisk and chill. She patted the handrail. “It’s an institution.”

Jaime only frowned. “Surely there must be money enough to replace this ancient rust-bucket.” 

“Jaime.” Brienne regarded him fondly. “We islanders are a hardy bunch. The ferry may not look like much, but it’s perfectly safe – and besides, the more mainlanders who are put off by its appearance, the better.” 

“Are you calling me a spoiled mainlander?” 

“You are a spoiled mainlander,” she said, grinning. “Here.” She unwound her blue silk scarf and draped it around his neck, tucking the ends into his jacket. 

He mock-scowled at her, but caught her one of her fluttering hands and threaded his fingers through hers, stepping close enough that the solid warmth of his body was pressed against her side. 

She smiled, her cheeks unaccountably warm. 

** 

She brought him to Evenfall Hall. 

It had been built as a classic Andal fortress, long centuries before the coming of the Targaryens. It had been sacked in 302 AC by foreign mercenaries in the pay of Aegon the Pretender, and rebuilt after the great upheaval and the ascension of Daenerys Targaryen. During later eras of turbulence it had been besieged, burned and even bombed, and the Evenstar and the people of Tarth had always rebuilt. In these modern times, only a few remnants of the original mediaeval fortress remained, but the resilience and strength of the house of Tarth was still very much a part of island lore. 

The Hall was open to the public on Monday through Saturday. Tours were held at 11am and 2pm each day. But as it was a Sunday, Brienne drove her tiny rental up to the moat and over the lowered drawbridge – _honestly, it hasn’t been raised in 300 years_ – and pressed a code into the security pad on the stone wall. 

The heavy iron portcullis rose with a slow, ponderous grating noise, and she drove her car inside and parked discreetly around the back. 

“Come in,” she said, beckoning to Jaime with a mischievous smile and pulling out her key. “There’s no one here but us.” 

She gave Jaime her best attempt at a guided tour. They started in the great hall, with its ancient stone columns and vast rafters of petrified oak, still blackened from the great fire of 302 AC. The original high seat remained, ancient heavy wood carved with crescent moons and starbursts. 

“The stained glass has been replaced many times,” Brienne said. “But every time, it’s the same pattern – symbols of the sea, the land and the sky, bordered by starbursts, crescent moons and lions.”

He slanted her a look. “Oh? So it’s true, then?”

“The Blue Knight and Goldenhand the Just? Of course it is.” 

“In the Westerlands, they say the Blue Knight stole Goldenhand away.” 

She frowned at him. “They do not!” 

But he only laughed. 

“Let me show you the museum,” Brienne said. “There’s something I think you’d love to see.” 

He raised his brows and grinned. She flushed, and swatted him – but only gently. 

They walked through the corridors, hand in hand, through the stone halls and into the more modern part of the Hall. The museum was locked, but Brienne entered the passcode and slipped inside, flipping on the light switches to illuminate the collected treasures of the island of Tarth. 

“Here,” she said, low and reverent as she drew him over to the centrepiece of the collection. “Look.” 

Two crossed swords, sheathed in worn and battered leather, the hilts ornate gold shaped in the form of snarling lion’s heads, with rubies for eyes.

He breathed out a slow breath. “Are they…?”

“Yes. Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail.” She stole a swift look around, half-believing the stern museum attendants would appear out of nowhere even while the museum was closed, and then slipped softly up to the display and gently, reverently lifted Oathkeeper down from the wall. 

Balancing the ancient longsword across her palms, she held it out to Jaime, who stared at her with wide eyes. 

“May I?” he breathed – the first time she’d ever heard him ask permission. 

She nodded. 

He swallowed, and lifted the sword from her hands with reverent care. 

“It’s so light!” he whispered. “Of course – it’s Valyrian steel. But I always thought it would weigh more.” He gripped the hilt and slowly, reverently drew the blade, staring down in awe at the smoky black and red ripples in the steel. 

“Is it still sharp?” he asked. “Is it true – they never lose their edge?” 

She drew the blue silk scarf from his neck and threw it up into the air. It drifted down, slowly, so slowly, to lie over the blade – and with the slightest whisper of sound, parted and fell to the ground, sliced in two by the razor-sharp edge.

“Oh,” Jaime breathed, his voice choked. He stared up at her, his eyes wide. 

“Jaime,” Brienne said, her voice faint.

Carefully, so carefully and deliberately, he re-sheathed the blade and replaced it on the wall. And then they stepped into each other, mouths crashing together, and dragged each other to the floor. 

** 

[She made sure to erase the CCTV footage, afterwards.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist! What sort of a bodyguard fic is complete without *that* scene?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Spring break,” Jaime repeated in a hollow voice. “In Meereen.”
> 
> Sun, sea, sand, Cersei - and secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I should mention that the scene with the blue scarf in the last chapter was borrowed from the Kevin Costner movie "The Bodyguard", because I absolutely could not resist.
> 
> 2\. I'm not American, I'm completely making up the details about spring break. I have seen movies though. 
> 
> 3\. Because this is nothing but self-indulgent fluff, there is no twincest and Cersei is much softer than in canon.

“Spring break,” Jaime repeated in a hollow voice. “In Meereen.”

Margaery threw her hands up and cheered. 

“Say you’ll come, Brienne,” Sansa said, taking her hand. “We’ll rent a private villa right on the beach. It’ll be amazing!” 

“What’s wrong, Lannister?” Reyne’s voice broke in. “Everyone’s going. Even your sister.” He held up his phone to show his social media feed. 

“Cersei’s going?” Jaime swore under his breath. “That means –”

Just on cue, his phone rang. He sighed, fished it out, and held it up to his ear. “Hello, Father,” he said. 

** 

“Do you think it’s too dangerous?” Brienne asked, when they were alone. 

Jaime sighed. “Lys would be better,” he said. “Or better still, Tarth.” 

She made a face. The islanders had always had a complicated relationship with the tourists and students who came to frolic on the white sands and swim in the pure blue water. On the one hand, they brought in much-needed revenue. On the other – 

“It’s a moot point, anyway,” Jaime said. “Cersei’s going to Meereen, and Father will send his best security with her – we can’t get any safer than that. We may as well go.” 

He looked so very non-enthusiastic that she had to laugh. “Look,” she said. “I promise to stay at your side, and I won’t take drugs or get drunk and go off with strangers.” 

He grinned, his quick, slashing grin – but then grew sober again. “It’s not you I’m worried about,” he admitted. “It’s everyone else.” 

**

One week later, exams done, Brienne, Margaery, Sansa and Jaime packed their passports and their swimming costumes and drove to a private airfield. There they found a gaudy crimson and gold private jet swarming with black-suited security, and Jaime’s sister, Cersei. 

They were twins, Jaime had told Brienne. It had not prepared her for the reality of it: Cersei was Jaime’s exact mirror in feminine form; if it hadn’t been for the obvious differences at shoulder and waist and chest, if her hair hadn’t been long and curling, and his much shorter, and if Jaime hadn’t been too busy studying during the exam period to shave, they would have been impossible to tell apart. 

Their expressions, though, were very different. 

Cersei glowered at him. “Where have you been, you arsehole?” she demanded. 

Jaime sighed. “Cersei –”

“I was worried about you,” she snapped. “I haven’t heard from you in months, not since just after the coup, and you haven’t been home since you disappeared from Crakehall –” her voice broke, and she turned away. 

Margaery and Sansa stared at Jaime, their eyes wide and questioning. The black-suited security were also stealing discreet glances at them. 

“Cersei,” Jaime said, walking hastily after his sister. “Look,” Brienne heard him say. “I’m sorry. Things have been – well, you know how things have been. Father insisted it was for your own good.” 

Their voices faded away, indistinct, and Brienne coughed and tried to look away from the pair of arguing siblings. Cersei was crying, great ugly sobs, and Jaime looked on, helpless.

Finally Cersei reached out and pulled him into a convulsive hug, and then hit him on the arm. 

“Ow!” he said, grinning. “That hurt.” 

“Good!” Cersei snapped. “Don’t you ever disappear on me again.” 

They turned and made their way back to the group. 

** 

“Your sister seemed upset,” Sansa said tentatively, when they were in the air and flying eastwards to Essos. Cersei was curled up in her chair, asleep with a gel-mask laid over her eyes. “We don’t mean to pry, but –”

Jaime looked away, and then back. “Oh well,” he said. “It’s probably time you knew anyway.” He looked at Brienne, who nodded slowly. 

“I’m a Kingsguard,” he said simply. “Here to guard –”

“Brienne,” Margaery breathed. “Of course. Brienne _Tarth_. I never made the connection!” 

“You’re the Crown Princess?” Sansa asked, staring at her as if she’d grown a third head. “But you’re –” Brienne braced herself. “You’re just normal!” 

Brienne coughed out a laugh. “Princesses aren’t meant to be normal?” she asked. 

“I mean, they’re not supposed to get falling-down drunk and beat up guys in bars to protect their – oh,” Sansa breathed, her eyes going wide as she laughed. “Oh, Jaime, you’re such an –” she turned a mock-accusing glare on Jaime, who was trying and failing to look innocent. “You deliberately made everyone think Brienne was your bodyguard!” 

Margaery reached out and hit him on the arm. “Ow!” he said again. 

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” she scolded. “I can’t believe you’re really a Kingsguard.” 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and from behind his driver’s licence pulled out another ID card, this one embossed with the crown and seven-pointed star. 

It was dated almost two years ago. 

** 

“You must have been – what, seventeen when you took the white?” Brienne asked, much later. They were alone in the cabin; Cersei and Margaery and Sansa had retreated into luxurious sleeping cubicles to rest. 

“About that.” Jaime nodded. “When I was fifteen, King Aerys ordered my father to send me to school in King’s Landing, instead of in the Westerlands. He wanted me to be a hostage to ensure my father’s continuing obedience.”

Brienne made a sympathetic noise. “But how did you go from a hostage to a Kingsguard? You were under-age. You can’t take any vows – especially life-long vows – without parental permission – and surely your father never agreed to it.”

Jaime gave her that lopsided, ironic don’t-be-foolish smile. 

“Aerys said he was the father of the people,” he said. “And therefore, he stood in loco parentis – and the High Septon was too terrified to protest.” 

“And were you?” she asked. “Terrified?”

He blinked. “Of course not.” 

But somehow she knew he was lying. 

“Your father should petition the High Septon,” she said earnestly. “I’m sure my father will agree to release you from the Kingsguard.” 

He nodded slowly. “Oh, I’ve no doubt he will. But I don’t think my father will ask – at least not yet. He’s willing to wait for the right moment.” 

“Which is?” She paused. He looked at her. “Oh!” she blushed as she realised. “Right. For me to fall in love with you.” 

His mouth curled. “Which we’ve agreed will never happen, right?” 

“Sure.” She nodded, swallowing nervously. “Absolutely. Never.” 

** 

When they got to Meereen, the security escort ushered them through customs and into one of two armoured black SUVs, its windows darkened. Cersei, Margaery and Sansa – all daughters of the great houses – seemed almost to have expected it, though Margaery apparently found it all highly amusing. When they were all seated and buckled in, the two cars headed out to the beach-side villa they had rented for the duration of their stay. 

Already there were revellers out and about on the streets, walking along in their bikinis or their board-shorts, spilling out of the bars and cheering, and she could see people sunbathing on the beach and swimming in the water. 

Jaime’s eyes – like the black-suited security – scanned in all directions, looking for danger, though she noticed one of the younger men turning his head to watch a group of women in bikinis. 

Jaime cleared his throat, and he jumped guiltily to attention. 

Finally they reached the white-washed stone villa, with purple bougainvillea and red hibiscus and palm trees everywhere. Birds sang and flitted here and there, and a marble fountain trickled cool water in the heated courtyard, and in the distance she could hear the slow booming of the sea. 

As they piled out of the SUV – more security men and their luggage emerging from the second – a young, piping voice called out “Jaime Jaime Jaime!” and a young boy raced out of the villa, throwing himself at Jaime’s legs and hugging him. 

Brienne had an impression of shaggy golden curls with an odd black streak, before Jaime disentangled himself and knelt down, putting his hand on the young boy’s shoulder. 

“Tyrion,” he said, smiling more widely and sincerely than she’d ever seen before. “It’s so good to see you! But –” he looked around. “What are you doing here? Where’s –”

“Jaime fookin’ Lannister,” a voice called out, deliberately insolent. “There you are.” A smirking, villainous man in an eye-searing Lyseni shirt and cargo pants strolled out, his arms crossed. 

Jaime stood up. “Bronn,” he said, smiling fondly. “You old cunt.” 

And he stepped up to the other man and engulfed him in a rib-cracking embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - spring break shenanigans. And more Bronn and Tyrion.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My brother has turned into an evil mastermind,” Jaime said to Brienne. “Last time I saw him, all he could talk about was dragons. The winged kind, not the golden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little update, featuring Jaime & Tyrion & Bronn. Please enjoy! Promised shenanigans next chapter. Honest.

After the luggage had been unloaded from the vans and the guests had been installed in their room, Brienne wondered out onto the villa’s wide balcony, drawn by the sound of Jaime’s voice. 

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, brother,” Jaime was saying, “but what on earth are you doing here?” 

He was sprawled in a cane chair, lolling with such casual elegant grace that Brienne had to roll her eyes. He looked like the lord of the manor, like he should have been wearing a pale linen suit and trousers rather than jeans and a band t-shirt. 

His younger brother, Tyrion, was seated in the other chair, swinging his legs. 

The man in the eye-searing tropical over-shirt – Bronn – was leaning against a post, his arms crossed and smirking villainously. Beneath his brightly-patterned shirt, Brienne could see that he wore a gun holstered in the small of his back. 

“And you,” Jaime said, looking at Bronn. “Aren’t I paying you enough? You’re supposed to look after him.”

“Oh, but he is!” Tyrion piped up. “I made him bring me.” 

Jaime narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You’re eleven years old. How did you make him do anything?” 

Brienne had to smother a laugh at the triumphant look on Tyrion’s face. Just so did Jaime look, when he had succeeded in a diabolical stratagem. 

“I bribed him, of course!” Tyrion said proudly. “Father always says –”

“Yes, yes, I know what Father says.” Jaime sighed. “You do know that Bronn is my henchman, not yours. His extortionate fees come out of my trust fund, after all.” 

“Technically, your mother employed me first,” Bronn interjected. “A fine lady, she was.” There was an expression of – nostalgia – on his battered face. “Only laughed when I propositioned her, and said that she had a better use for my skills.” 

“That was when Mama made you Jaime’s bodyguard?” Tyrion asked, his eyes bright. 

“Paid me a princely sum to look after the little lordling,” Bronn said. “A right terror he was, too.”

Brienne stifled a giggle. 

“But what are you doing _here?_ And now, of all times.” Jaime asked again, hastily changing the subject. “In Meereen. During spring break.” 

“I wanted to see you,” Tyrion said. “I haven’t seen you for ages. Cersei hasn’t either. For years, Father said it was too dangerous – well, the Mad King is dead now, and you still haven’t come home. So I hinted to Cersei –”

“You – _you’re_ behind all this?” 

“Jaime,” Tyrion said, frowning at his elder brother, with his own version of Jaime’s don’t-be-foolish smile. “Of course I am.” 

**** 

“My brother has turned into an evil mastermind,” Jaime said to Brienne later. “Last time I saw him, all he could talk about was dragons. The winged kind, not the golden.” 

“Children grow up quickly,” Brienne said. “And you haven’t seen him for four years.” 

Jaime sighed. “I did my best to keep an eye out for Tyrion. But there was a limit to what I could get away with, under the King’s eye. The best I could do was pay Bronn to stay on as his bodyguard.” 

“Well, he seems to have done a good job of that.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt of his physical safety,” Jaime said darkly. “But the gods alone know what else he’s learned.”

Brienne smiled. “Survival skills, probably.” 

“Bribery. Manipulation. Yes, I suppose they are Lannister life skills.” Despite himself, Jaime laughed. “Even Father would approve.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime sat down cross-legged beside Brienne and took her hand in his own, entwining their fingers. 
> 
> “Remember,” he said. “You’re safe here. I’m with you.” 
> 
> She smiled at him and squeezed his hand in reply. 
> 
> **
> 
> While on spring break, Margaery, Sansa and Brienne dabble in mind-altering substances. Brienne has a very intriguing vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need it, a warning for hallucinogenic drug use.
> 
> [Also, never having dabbled in mind-altering substances of any sort, I'm making this up entirely.]

1\. 

**

“Come on, Brienne, it’ll be fun,” Margaery said, laughing brightly. “Trust me.” She held up a tiny plastic packet of dried, shredded brown mushrooms. “They’ll expand your mind.”

“More like blow your mind,” Jaime muttered, sotto voce. And then, in a louder voice: “I hope you got that from a trusted source.”

“Of course.” She looked offended. “My brother Willas grows more than just roses at Highgarden.” 

Brienne looked at Jaime. He was frowning, clearly not willing to risk her safety on Margaery’s airy promises. For all that he was reckless and unconventional in his manner of protecting her, Jaime took his vows as a Kingsguard seriously. 

Sansa, too, looked unconvinced. 

“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, brother,” Tyrion said grandly. “When you frown like that, you look just like our father.” He smiled winningly at Margaery, who looked charmed and made as if to offer him the packet – but Jaime snatched it away from him and glowered at Bronn, who only shrugged.

“No,” Jaime said firmly. “Just – not yet, Tyrion.”

Tyrion frowned, but Brienne thought he was secretly pleased. 

Jaime gave the mushrooms back to Margaery with an apologetic smile. 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Sansa asked. “I’ve heard so many stories –”

“We’ll all be with you, Sansa,” Margaery said. “We won’t leave you alone in the dark.” 

Brienne – who had swum and fenced competitively and had never taken drugs in her life – had always been secretly intrigued by the idea. She was on spring break, amongst trusted friends, and this was only a one-time experience, never to be repeated. 

“I’m in,” she said, with a shy smile. 

“Ok,” Sansa agreed, her blue eyes shadowed but trusting. “Just this once.” 

Margaery looked at Jaime. 

“No,” he said. “I’ll stay here to watch over you, just in case.” 

His eyes were fixed on Brienne. 

** 

They dressed themselves in their most comfortable clothes and lay down in the front room with the windows open to the warm spring breezes, with the sound of the waves washing against the sands a slow and rhythmic backdrop to the cosy, sunlit atmosphere. 

Jaime sat down cross-legged beside Brienne and took her hand in his own, entwining their fingers. 

“Remember,” he said. “You’re safe here. I’m with you.” 

She smiled at him and squeezed his hand in reply. 

And then the sound of the waves grew louder and louder in her ears, and the world seemed to grow fainter and fainter, until reality dissolved like wisps of fog beneath the warmth of the sun.

**

2.

**

She woke in the pre-dawn light, the air bitingly chill – far too chill for Meereen. She was lying on a lumpy mattress, naked, beneath soft, warm coverings – _fur?_ – and a man’s arm was encircling her waist, heavy with sleep.

Brienne and Jaime had slept together often enough that she recognised him without having to turn. But when she stroked her hand along his arm, she felt a strange foreshortening. 

She turned, startled, swearing as the furs slipped from her shoulders and exposed her to the freezing air; she clutched at the covers, and looked down at Jaime, cursing as always when woken up in the morning – but a Jaime she had never known before – 

He was older. At least twenty years older. He smelled of sweat and leather and steel, rather than gun oil and expensive aftershave, and his shaggy golden hair was shot with grey, and he had a _beard_ , with lines of age and experience fanning out from his eyes. He looked tired and world-weary, but when he blinked his hazy green eyes and smiled at her, slow and wry and affectionate, she knew he could not be anyone else. 

“Good morning,” he said, his voice sleep-gruff. He tightened his arm around her waist, and leaned in to nuzzle her with his beard. 

_Oh,_ she thought, intrigued. _Oh, that’s nice._

“How do you feel after last night?” 

Last night? She thought back to last night, to the room she and Jaime shared at the villa, with its large windows thrown wide, curtains billowing, and the way they had fucked to the sound of the waves, slow and lazy and content. 

But as she stretched and tested her body, she winced at a whole host of unfamiliar aches and pains. She felt bruised and battered all over, actually, as if she’d just fought a battle; besides that, her body felt strange, much bigger and bulkier than she remembered. 

She threw off the covers, jumped naked onto the floor and looked wildly down at her naked body – muscled, scarred, bruised and battered – and at her hands, rough and nicked and calloused, as if from years of – 

There was a suit of blue armour on a stand in the corner, and two swords slung from their leather swordbelts on the wall. She recognised those swords: sheathed in worn and battered leather, their hilts ornate gold shaped in the form of snarling lion’s heads. 

She crossed over to pick _Oathkeeper_ up with gentle, reverent care, stroking her hands over the fresh scars on the leather sheath. 

“Not that bad, surely?” the man who was and was not Jaime asked from behind her, in that casual way he had of disguising concern. “I own, I was more than a little drunk, but still I thought –”

 _Oathkeeper._ And _Widow’s Wail._ And a suit of blue armour, and Jaime Lannister, sans right hand – 

She replaced the Blue Knight’s sword with infinite care and turned back to the bed. There, shaggy and greying and making poor jokes, was _Goldenhand the Just._

There were tiny finger-shaped bruises on her hips, and her inner muscles burned with a familiar sweet ache. 

Slowly, holding herself with as much confidence as she could, she made her way back over to stand before him. He looked up at her with laughter and affection in his eyes, and he was so very like her own Jaime that she leaned down and kissed him, slow and sweet, and pushed him down to the bed. 

**

She couldn’t wait to tell Jaime about this when she got back.

** 

3.

**

“What did you see?” Margaery asked the next day. “I saw myself dressed in green and gold, seated on the Iron Throne as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” She looked at Brienne and grinned. “Not, of course, that I would ever want to see that come true. The throne was bloody awful to sit on, for one. I’d much rather be your Prime Minister, Brienne.”

“I dreamed that I looked through the eyes of a direwolf,” Sansa said. “I had five brothers and sisters, all pack, and when we ran through the forest all the lesser beasts gave way.” For just a moment, she looked fierce and cold and proud, very like a direwolf. But then she sighed. “I suppose all the direwolves are dead, now – or retreated far beyond the Wall.” 

“We should fly up there and search them out one day,” Tyrion said, his eyes shining. “One day we’ll find one, and you can look it in the eye and it will know you for an equal.” 

“Yes, yes, but before Sansa goes off in search of Shere Khan,” Cersei said, “what did you see, Brienne?” 

Cersei had gone off with a group of friends from her own college and had returned in the early hours of the morning. Jaime had given her a frowning look; in turn, she’d given him her middle finger. 

Brienne cleared her throat. “I dreamed I was a knight,” she said – meeting Jaime’s eyes and blushing scarlet. 

** 

["Oh," Jaime said, when they were alone. “Well. That's -" his eyes were very dark, and his pulse was beating swiftly. "Tell me _everything_." And then, later: "You know, I had a dream about the Blue Knight, once."]

**


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long, sunlit days fell into a slow and lazy rhythm: they woke with the sun, and sometimes they rolled out of bed and went for a morning swim, and sometimes they stayed in, trading kisses and more in the warm sunlight.
> 
> Sometimes they strolled down to explore the town and to have brunch and cool drinks in the shaded bars and restaurants. Sometimes they booked an activity: jet-skiing, or a trip to one of the outer islands, or even paragliding once. 
> 
> Tyrion came with them, sometimes, Bronn tagging along to add off-colour commentary; sometimes Cersei deigned to accompany them, holding court like a queen. Sometimes even Reyne appeared to needle Jaime, who merely smiled at him – and left him in his wake in a jetski race.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the spring break fluff. 
> 
> Can you tell that my thoughts are turning towards long summer holidays at the beach?

They did the typical spring break things.

She went with Margaery and Sansa – and Jaime, as always – to a bar, and they drank and danced and laughed. Brienne wore a blue dress and enjoyed the way Jaime’s eyes darkened when he saw her; he stood up with her on the tiny dance floor and smiled his razor-sharp smile at anyone who came too close.

They went to the beach. Jaime wore Ray-Bans and a pair of hideous board-shorts festooned with toucans and prowling tigers. Brienne wore a very sensible one-piece suit and a floppy hat. Jaime insisted on spreading sunscreen all over her back – _don’t want you to get sunburned, princess,_ he said with a curling smile.

She returned the favour. His back was so warm, and his skin so golden; he arched like a cat under her stroking palms.

They went out on a dive boat to look at the reef. They helped each other into their snorkelling gear and flipped backwards over the side of the boat, laughing at the showy move; they held hands as they swam amongst the brightly coloured fish and fantastic coral.

Jaime took her out on his yacht – sailed up from the Lannister holiday villa in Lys – and they drank champagne and ate oysters and buttered lobster.

It could almost – almost – have been romantic, if he wasn’t such a beautiful, laughing creature who smiled at her with as much amusement as affection; if he wasn’t a knight of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect her. 

Every night they held each other close in their upstairs bedroom, with the gauzy curtains drifting in the breeze and the sound of the waves lulling them to sleep.

**

In the mornings they woke, and Jaime lazy and hazy with sleep was a sight to behold – he yawned and stretched and his hair was wild about his head like a lion’s mane.

When he felt like it, he padded down to the kitchen, barefoot and bare-chested, and made bacon and eggs and toast for them all –

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said. “I always prefer frozen meals and take-away.”

She had expected Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock to share her absolute disinterest in the kitchen. But he only frowned at her, looking personally offended.

“Lannisters do not –”

She held up her hand.

“Don’t say it,” she begged him. “I swear you say that ten times a week. There’s so many things that Lannisters do not – is there anything Lannisters _do_?”

He grinned salaciously at her.

**

“Have you ever thought of growing a beard?” she asked Jaime, a couple of days after her wild mushroom-dream of Goldenhand the Just.

“Every time I have to shave,” he said lazily. “And then I remember my one and only attempt at a moustache –”

“No!” she said, laughing. “You didn’t –”

“I did,” he confirmed. “I was fourteen years old.”

“Please tell me there are pictures,” she begged him.

“Destroyed, each and every one,” he said, grinning. “I burned the negatives myself.”

“Well, now that you’re 19 and full grown –”

“No.” He cut her off. “Not even for you.”

(She does her best to convince him, though.)

**

The long, sunlit days fell into a slow and lazy rhythm: they woke with the sun, and sometimes they rolled out of bed and went for a morning swim, and sometimes they stayed in, trading kisses and more in the warm sunlight.

Sometimes they strolled down to explore the town and to have brunch and cool drinks in the shaded bars and restaurants. Sometimes they booked an activity: jet-skiing, or a trip to one of the outer islands, or even paragliding once.

Tyrion came with them, sometimes, Bronn tagging along to add off-colour commentary; sometimes Cersei deigned to accompany them, holding court like a queen. Sometimes even Reyne appeared to needle Jaime, who merely smiled at him – and left him in his wake in a jetski race.

Money was no object. Brienne had always been conscious of cost; Tarth was not a rich island, and she and her father had always had to scrape and save. But Jaime and Margaery and even Sansa scattered their money about with careless abandon.

“You should, too,” Jaime said. “I know your father gave you a platinum card.”

“It’s for emergencies only, Jaime!” she protested. “Helicopter tours to Astapor are not emergencies.”

He only laughed at her.

**

And then one day, they all went out on Jaime’s yacht. They were lounging on the deck, sunbathing or drinking, or – in the case of Cersei and Reyne – fooling around in the cabin – a group of wealthy, entitled, arrogant tourists.

Easy prey, the pirates thought.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You fools!” the head pirate shouted. “There is one missing! Where is the bodyguard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for pirates, I suppose? 
> 
> (Hollywood pirates, not ASOIAF-canon pirates.)

Jaime was distracted. He had no other explanation. He’d been distracted all week, lost in the slow, smiling warmth of Brienne’s blue eyes, lulled into false security by the lazy rhythm of their days in Meereen.

When the pirates came up beside the yacht in their black inflatable boats, Jaime was below decks, his head filled with Brienne’s warm, solid steadiness, intent on kissing every one of her freckles he could see.

It was inexcusable. 

When the pirates swarmed up the sides, rattling off short bursts from their automatic rifles and shouting, Jaime was slow to react.

He would blame himself for that, ever afterwards.

They shot Cersei’s two black-clad security first, and fired a burst above the sunbathers’ heads, sending them running, panicked and screaming. They herded the guests into a crowded huddle, threatening them with guns, and three pirates peeled off to head down below decks.

When he heard the gunfire, in the last seconds before armed pirates burst into the cabin, bristling with guns, Jaime looked up, wide-eyed –

“Lannister!” he could hear the pirates shouting. “Jaime Lannister!”

Jaime shoved Brienne off the bed, with a frantic _“Hide!”,_ shoved her into the tiny closet, but before he could even begin to think of weapons or resistance, they burst through the door, seized him and dragged him out –

Brienne stared, wide-eyed, through the just-open closet door. He met her gaze for one long, terrible moment – and then he was gone.

**

In the terrible silence afterwards, Brienne was shaking with adrenaline. It had all happened so quickly, and Jaime was _gone_ , and she was alone –

She hadn’t been alone since the first day Jaime had been assigned to her, she realised numbly. He’d always been by her side, an unconscious support and a promise of protection – and now he was gone.

What was she supposed to do now?

Slowly, she breathed in, and then out, trying to calm herself, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She had to do something. She couldn’t just hide in the closet and wait for someone to come rescue her. What if no one ever came?

With her eye pressed to the crack, she could see the whole of the empty room. Slowly, carefully, she opened the closet door and tiptoed as quietly as she could to the door, peeking her head out of the cabin. Dimly, she could hear pirates shouting and the rattle of gunfire. Carefully, feeling infinitely foolish, she moved slowly towards the stairs leading up to the deck, looked cautiously out to see –

Margaery, Sansa, Reyne and the others huddled together on the deck, with pirates standing over them brandishing guns.

Jaime and Cersei on their knees, hands behind their heads. There was blood pouring from Jaime’s nose, and his shirt was ripped and torn. Two pirates stood over the twins, guns pointed at them.

“You fools!” the head pirate shouted. “There is one missing! Where is the bodyguard?”

Jaime’s green eyes blinked hazily. She saw Margaery’s and Sansa’s eyes go very wide.

“You!” the head pirate shouted, grabbing Jaime’s golden curls. “Where is she? Where is your big ugly bodyguard?”

Jaime only laughed.

The pirate backhanded him, and he fell to the deck, still laughing, his white teeth stained with blood.

_Me,_ Brienne realised slowly. _They’re talking about me. They think I’m Jaime’s bodyguard, rather than –_ and then, _they don’t know I’m a princess. They’re here for Jaime and Cersei,_ _not me_.

“Find her!” the head pirate shouted. Four pirates peeled off from the main group and headed below decks. Brienne shrank into the shadows as they passed right by her.

She stayed watching Jaime, as the head pirate dragged him to his knees, throwing him beside Cersei. He pulled out a phone and pointed it at the golden Lannister twins, bloodied but unbowed.

“Tywin Lannister!” the pirate said. “I have your son and daughter. If you want to see them again, alive and unharmed –”

He was filming, Brienne realised. It was a ransom message.

What was she going to do? She had to save them.

She wasn’t a bodyguard of any sort. Jaime had only made that up as a joke, to protect her anonymity – and it looked like it had worked all too well. She wasn’t a hero, or a trained agent, she was just a princess.

But there was no one else.

As Brienne breathed in, slowly, and out again, trying to calm her nerves, she began to think more clearly.

She was more than just a princess. She was a solid, practical, hard-headed islander, brought up to be hardy and self-sufficient. She knew how to swim and sail and fight, and most importantly, she knew how to _think_.

Jaime and her friends were in danger. 

She would save them, no matter what. 

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Action-hero!Brienne.


End file.
